Everyone Has a Reason
by Lady Sable
Summary: A simple story, where James needs some comforting, and the only one to give it is none other than Harry Mason. Full of angst and man on man action.


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_AN: _Okay, just a little bit of explanation is in order here. This story was basically just for my cousin. I actually don't understand how James and Harry could work (timeline-wise) but she assured me that it would, so I wrote it. I uhh, have actually never played a Silent Hill game, either. (Blasphemy, I know!) I am somewhat familiar with the characters, but not their personalities, per se...so if the boys are out of character, my apologies, I _did_ try, though.

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Everyone has a reason.

There's no escape here. Nothing.

My voice is hollow as I call out to him to stop, the timbre of my words ringing soullessly in the sparse, dank hallway, where above a single naked light bulb swings weightlessly, casting twisting, arching shadows on the expanses of our bodies, clothing, and faces.

"We're not finished here." The words that leave my mouth are stronger than the body behind them, my confidence failing in the presence of his languid, overwhelming charisma. I can't raise my eyes to meet his; instead my gaze lingers on the floor, my dark eyes taking in the rotted floorboards and dark stains around us, as the stark, pungent smell of decay finally rises to assault my senses.

"We're not?" Harry's voice is a subtle baritone, and I can hear a lingering smirk embedded deep within his speech.

"No. You can't," I hesitate; nervous to speak of what we had done together aloud, unwilling to voice the tentative bond we shared. "You can't walk away from me just yet. I have too many questions for you, I need to know—"

He cut me off with a sound of disgust, waving a hand dismissively in my direction. The shadow of his distended fingers caught the corner of my eye as the dark shapes pervaded the cold cracked interior of the hallway, the moist concrete practically pulsating with life at the very movement.

"You _need_ to know nothing from me." He looked like he wanted to say more, but he closed his mouth, opting to instead run bandaged, dirty fingers through his tangled brown locks, wincing as he caught a sudden snag.

I glanced up at him, taking in the haggard appearance: the unwashed hair, the dark circles beneath cold eyes, and the lean build ghosting behind his gaping jacket. I knew I must look eerily similar, the scarce light scattering treacherous shadows over my exhausted, weary frame as well. I took a tentative step toward him, hoping my sympathetic, tired eyes could convey to him exactly how confused, frightened, and desperate I was. How badly I needed a companion, someone to confide in and rely on in this fucked-up nightmare we were trapped in.

He raked his devilish eyes over me, taking in the battered, bruised body, the lacerations and gore staining my bare torso. He averted his eyes, sighing before crossing the hallway, eliminating the distance between us. I took in a sharp breath and backed against the rough granite of the hallway, the stone scraping against abused flesh. My pulse quickened as he placed his hands against the wall on either side of my head, leveling his face to mine. Harry was close enough that I could smell his sweat, could feel the heat of his skin, could practically _taste_ the underlying current of fear that raced through his veins.

"I'd help you if I could." His breath was warm and moist against my earlobe, and despite the fear and worry gnawing deep in my gut, the sensations and warmth pooled in me from his fleeting touch. I felt my eyelids flutter as he gently nuzzled against my jaw, the barest hint of his touch reminding me of what emotions I had been neglecting for these long years since her death. "But I need to find Cheryl. I can't concentrate on anything else until she's back in my arms." To accent this longing sentiment, I felt his fingers slowly creep behind my shoulder blades, his lean arms gently tugging me closer, the tenderness of the embrace a stark contrast to the dark, stagnant hellhole we were confined to.

"I know you need to find her," My voice was low, unobtrusive and restrained in the void of this corridor. "In the same way I need answers, the truth as to why I'm here." I leaned heavily against his torso, a hand grazing absentmindedly against his thigh, the other rising to stroke his cheek, rough with stubble from the past few days' hysteria.

He made a noncommittal sound from deep in his throat, subconsciously nosing against my stiff, blood-stained fingers, his touch greedy and faintly desperate.

I silently reveled in this rare, quiet and peaceful moment.

In this town the fear constantly weighs on my mind; overwhelming and oppressive, a dark presence ever existent in the back of my conscious. The creatures and figures that linger in the shadows watch and wait, longing for the moment the fog rolls in and the sun goes out.

…Ever present and waiting for me to turn my unassuming back to the darkness for more than a moment.

I was wrenched from my surreal contemplations as the strong curve of Harry's hands ran down my spine and backside, jagged, impatient movements pressing our hips together in some hopeless allusion to affection.

I bit my lip softly as I felt the scratch of his chin against my clavicle, his lips wandering down my neck, hot breath whispering over sensitive skin. My breath caught in my throat and I tipped my head deftly, giving him full access to my racing pulse, my fingers inching to the back of his skull, gripping the short hair there tightly.

His lips were uncomfortably chapped and the strokes glancing down my body were awkward, but I indulged in the clumsy movements. The contact between us was warm and arousing; simple, urgent touches reminding us we were both still alive.

I felt his hand leave me for a moment to fumble with the doorknob of the room we had left mere moments ago. The door opened with an audible, echoing creak, and he all but threw me inside, nudging the door closed as an afterthought.

I stumbled backwards, caught off guard by his sudden advances, the backs of my thighs feeling the bite of the desk I had been shoved against.

"H-Ha—" I began to yowl a complaint, but was silenced by those raw lips; eager, desperate, unrelenting kisses stealing my breath, the objection dying in my throat. He mumbled warm, soft noises, continuing his ravishing as he lifted my hips, settling me further back on the desktop, wedging himself between my knees, callused fingers coaxing up tender flesh.

A soft moan bubbled from my throat and I tightened my thighs out of reflex, practically melting in his strong, safe embrace.

"James." His low voice purred my name, tendrils of bittersweet longing heavy in his words. "James, touch me."

I looked up into his strained face, my heart pounding intensely. "Okay," I breathed, moving my fingers to the collar of his loose jacket and pushing the fabric down off his bronze shoulders.

My fingers ran down his spine, taut skin whispering below my fingertips; he made a few low, guttural sounds as I leaned forward, my lips moving against and tasting the muscles of his chest, each movement charged with tension and a pressing sway of hopelessness.

"Mmm, James." I felt his fingernails dig into my hips and thumbs begin to unbuckle my belt, hands clumsy in their haste.

Not to be outdone I gripped the waistband of his jeans, tugging his body closer, hand movements impeded and hampered by the desire to be closer.

"James…" He tore off his belt and practically ripped open the front of his pants, shoving them down the curve of his hips; then moving on to mine, lifting me off the desk and tearing my jeans down to my thighs.

Our coupling was hurried, a rough, dirty, painful pairing that left me gasping, choking out his name in some forceful delusion of ecstasy.

His skin was slick with a sheen of perspiration that reflected in a pallid hue under the flicker of the fluorescent light above. I felt as much of his body as physically possible, pressing flesh against flesh in the passion of the moment, feeling his hips roll against mine, fingertips grazing, exploring, desiring, _needing _my whole being.

I finished with a breathy moan, gripping the desk so tightly my knuckles went white, and my nails dug deep into the damaged mahogany.

I felt Harry's teeth sink into my shoulder as he came, his grip firm on my skin, his hips still flexing with ghostly pangs of passion and want. I gritted my teeth, trying to control my racing heart and the suffocating desire to pant.

"Gods, James."

We dressed in silence, side by side, occasionally trailing fingers down each other's flesh, thighs and hips casually touching beneath the fluorescent light.

The slowly tightening tension between us had flourished again, and before I could stop myself, I found my hands buried in Harry's hair, my lips mashed against his in a wordless passion I didn't know I possessed. His arms were instantly around my waist, long fingers dancing up the inside of the back of my shirt, flush against my spine.

We broke apart, lungs screaming for air, lips parted and bruised, desperate for oxygen.

"Harry—" My breathless voice died cold in my throat as the low warning siren echoed from somewhere outside the building. My blood ran cold, the desolate panic raising the bile in the back of my throat.

"Oh God," Harry's voice trembled—pitchy, an octave higher than normal. "Those-those _things _are coming back!"

Harry secured the door before taking my hand and pulling me down to the ground with him, backs against the wall, eyes trained on the room's single exit.

We huddled together in the corner of the crimson-bathed room, fingers tangled, thighs and foreheads touching. I felt his breathe hot and nervous against my lips, and I stroked his hair soothingly, our heartbeats pounding in my ear.

As we lied there together, a calm sort of acceptance washed over me; even as I watched the walls pulse and bleed, as I felt black cobwebs branch over my calves, twisting a gnarled path up my knees and thighs, my heart remained impassive.

Harry's hands were cold and clammy against my skin; a blue penetrating chill that I felt itching below my skin, twisting and writhing within my insides.

I'm not sure how long we remained huddled together in the small study, clutching each other's bodies tightly and holding our breath whenever the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway.

The minutes dragged on for hours, all concepts of time lost in the whorl of fog and twilight seeping in through the cracked concrete walls. Animated life had seemed to silence and focus; moments mere trickles of reality and single heartbeats slowing and lasting a prolonged lifetime.

And then, as suddenly as it appeared, the hostile air soaking our lungs dissipated, raging darkness melting to the floor, the sobbing cries scratching at my mind ceasing to breathe.

We both reacted to the muted calm, gently untangling ourselves from the strangled embrace. Harry unfurled from his fetal position, glancing warily about the dismal, lackluster room.

"We were lucky this time." He murmured, hesitantly standing and stretching his limbs.

"Yea," I agreed, taking his hand and using his body as leverage to raise myself up. "But how long until this luck runs out?"

"Only time can tell." Harry gave a wane smile before pulling me close and threading his tired fingers through my sweat-soaked hair, pressing his lips awkwardly against my forehead, whispering soft soothing words to the empty void of the study.

After several quiet moments of rest, I felt his lips brush against my ear, his mouth set in a sad smile.

"I need to go, James. Cheryl…she's still out there, waiting for me to find her."

I turned my neck, my eyes trained on Harry's, seeing the thinly veiled heartbreak scattered behind them.

"I…understand. There are things I have to take care of as well."

I leaned into his embrace for one last time, engraving the feel of strong arms against my shoulders into my mind—warm memories to stoke during my cold, lonely nights.

"Harry," My voice was soft in the empty room, echoing slightly against the stained walls.

"Hmm?" He mumbled into my hair, and I could feel his lips move against my brown locks.

"Is this the last time I'll see you?" I attempted to keep the mournful ebb from my voice, but my spirits had wilted, realizing that once again I would be alone in this haunting dream. The thought was sobering, and a cold lump had lodged itself deep in my stomach.

"Hard to tell, James." I envied the calm collection evident in his voice. In contrast, my heart and emotions were frightened and panicked… unwilling to lose this fleeting camaraderie. "But I—I don't want it to be."

He untangled himself from my embrace, hands on my shoulders, soft eyes staring straight into mine. My heart shuddered.

"James…"

"Harry?"

"James, do me a favor."

"Anything."

"Stay alive. Do anything to survive." He moved his hands to my face, fingers tight against my flesh. "Understood? I want to see you again."

I placed my hands over his, swept up in the moment. "You do the same Harry. I _need _to see you again."

Harry smiled, his hollow eyes still gazing into mine. "All right."

Our mouths collided. We kissed in the way dying men would—passionate, hopeless, heartbreakingly desperate.

Then he was gone. We shared one last glance as Harry left, the subtle warmth that had been coaxed into my heart dying as he disappeared through the hallway arch.

My body sagged beneath the weight of loss; I leaned against the concrete wall, my head tilted back, my arms slack.

"I think I love you, Harry," I mumbled softly in the eclipsing darkness, the bittersweet smell of our coupling fading away to the twang of mold. "But you'll never know."

I placed my hand against the door, feeling the tender wood creak beneath my fingertips. My fingers shook, and my legs followed suit; I sunk to my knees and pressed my forehead to the door.

"Harry…"

But only silence echoed from behind the door. Harry was long gone, lost in his nightmare, while I, broken and tattered on the floor, was utterly lost in mine.


End file.
